There are none so blind as those who will not see.
When cataract surgery was first introduced, the stories of dozens of people–those blinded from birth now suddenly able to see–were preserved.
In Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard shares the poignant results: many of the newly-sighted were so dazzled by color, space and variety; so disturbed by the enormity and confusion of what they saw, they preferred to keep their eyes shut.
The world seemed less oppressive. Life was more manageable and easier to navigate in the dark.
I’m told that when an infant turns her face away, avoiding eye contact, this is a sign she is overstimulated. To turn her chin, to force her to look at you, is to disrespect her boundaries. The human response to what overwhelms is to choose not to see.
Learning to see
Jesus reminds us that “the eye is the lamp of the body.” Our eyes won’t automatically see. Our brains have to tell them what to notice.
So too, our hearts won’t automatically admit what is true. Our minds must will to notice. Unfortunately, we learn early the deadly dance of avoidance.
Annie Dillard’s prescription for dull-eyed vision is to say aloud what she encounters, to put into words and so train her mind to notice. This, poets, preachers and pray-ers have always known. To let in the light, to see what is really true, you must
- think it, speak it, write it, sing it,
- shout it, whisper it, journal it, share it,
- draw it, paint it, sculpt it, scribble it,
- pray it until you learn it by heart,
and then listen for it to be spoken back to you.
Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Philippians 4:8
What are you refusing to see?
Image credit:dhiking on flickr
